Heartrending beyond the power of pen to describe were the scenes at the side of the bier while the simple folk of Canton walked slowly by in two single files. The sorrow of those who knew the President was too intense for utterance, but was so full it burst the bounds of control over the emotions. Rough workingmen trembled from head to foot and their chests heaved with emotion, as great tears rolled down their faces. The ghastly appearance of President McKinley’s face, which was blue and thin, far more discolored than it was when the body lay in state in Buffalo, made the grief more poignant.
It seemed as though none who had known him in his genial vigor as their fellow townsman and neighbor could see that discolored face, the result of the assassin’s deadly work, without bursting into tears.
A farmer of 80, old, bent and weather-beaten, tottered in the line as he wound his decrepit way through the black corridor to the bier. When he saw the pinched, drawn face he placed his great gnarled hands to his face and wept as no heart-broken child could weep. He was bowed and broken when he entered the darkened hall and his step was shaky. When he left his shaggy white head was bowed lower, his spirit seemed broken almost to the point of leaving his aged frame and his step was a staggering shuffle. He was the impersonation of abject, venerable grief.
The sight had been throughout profoundly impressive.
Up the street soldiers at intervals of ten feet with difficulty restrained the solid wall of people. Canton had suddenly become a city of 100,000, and the entire population was in the streets. The station itself was cleared, a company of soldiers of the Eighth Ohio from Worcester keeping the platform clear. Opposite, over the heads of acres of people, on the wall of a big manufacturing establishment, was an enormous shield thirty feet high, with McKinley’s black-bordered picture in the center. The local committee, headed by ex-Secretary of State William R. Day and Judge Grant, was on the platform.
All about were the black symbols of mourning. The approach of the train was unheralded. No whistle was blown, no bell was rung. In absolute silence it rolled into the station. Even the black-hooded locomotive gave no sound. There was no panting of exhaust pipes. The energy that brought it seemed to have been absolutely expended. At the mere sight of the train the people who had been waiting there for hours were greatly affected. Women sobbed and men wept.
For a full minute after it had stopped no one appeared. Judge Day and his committee moved slowly down the platform in front of the line of soldiers to the catafalque car and waited. Colonel Bingham, the President’s aid, then gave directions for the removal of the casket from the car. The coffin was too large to be taken through the door and a broad window at the side was unscrewed and removed.
While this was going on the floral pieces inside were carefully lifted out and placed upon the ground at the side of the track. When all was ready the soldiers and sailors who had accompanied the body all the way from Buffalo emerged from the car and took up their places. The soldiers trailed their arms and the sailors held their drawn cutlasses at their sides. Only the body-bearers were bareheaded and unarmed.
Meantime President Roosevelt, with his brother-in-law, Captain Cowles of the navy, in full uniform, at his side, had descended from the car ahead of that occupied by Mrs. McKinley. The members of the Cabinet, excepting Secretary of State Hay and Secretary of the Navy Long, were present. Secretary Cortelyou, Governor Nash, Lieutenant-Governor Caldwell and Judge Marshall J. Williams of the Supreme Court, representing the three branches of the State government of Ohio, followed President Roosevelt from the train.
The President was met by Judge Grant of the Reception Committee, and the official party then moved to the west of the station, where they formed in line, with the President at the head. All were uncovered.